


Fenrir and Katniss Everdeen

by Eshnoazot



Series: Skirting the lines between fandoms. [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Archery, Archery Snark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/pseuds/Eshnoazot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m pretty sure killing wolves is illegal in New York,” Hawkeye frowned, “Against one animal welfare law or something. It sure violates something. And if a wolf got loose from the zoo, I’m pretty sure I’d know about it.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to kill him,” Allison snapped, “I want to re-capture him.”</p>
<p>The Archer sighed, “Look kiddo, what’s your game? Trafficking? Mutant wolf? Robot? Cross-breed? Loki’s monster spawnlings?”</p>
<p>There was a pause.</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Hawkeye responded, "You're totally hunting Loki's monster offspring."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fenrir and Katniss Everdeen

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Avengers: Hawkeye, World’s Worst Archer? (NOT A FIC! A information article thing.)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/31179) by JIM MACQUARRIE. 



The stare-off was surely something for the record books.

Cool blue eyes met warm brown, silently and critically inspecting each other’s form and posture for any weak links. The stalemate was tangible, and neither looked willingly to back down and submit; both clearly immovable forces of nature. Their comparative natures started and ended at the taunt muscles with drawn bowstrings; their figures and positions and expressions were vastly different. The girl with warm brown eyes was young, barely out of her teens, while the cool blue eyes belonged to a man already leaning towards the end of his prime. One expression open and critical, the other guarded and closed.

The rooftop was silent, even as cars still lit up the roads below.  The night was stifling still, and the weather had dropped to a temperature that even gave the man a slight chill. Nevertheless, the male archer had appeared, as the girl had perched on the rooftop and drawn her bow with a determined expression.

“Fancy seeing you here, kid,” The man announced with a curve to his mouth, “A little close to Stark Tower; makes me wonder why a wannabe archer has set up shop so close.”

Even though his muscles make no tangible moments, the girl had a deep impression that he was motioning towards the brightly lit tower behind her.

“Really, a teenager with a compound bow is apparently going to take on the Avengers?” The girl responded in amusement, “Besides, you’re one to talk; your posture is awful.”

“Excuse me?” The man responded with narrowed eyes.

“You have terrible posture,” The girl repeated sweetly, “ _Oh my god_ \- Your elbow is oriented at a 45-degree angle. Is that why you have a second arm-guard?”

Cool blue eyes narrowed.

“If your elbow was vertical, you wouldn’t need a second arm guard,” The girl continued pointedly, “You have a nice big muscle protruding out into the path of the string. It’s going to seriously affect your proficiency.”

The man with the cool blue eyes blinked, one eye at a time, as if he was concerned that she was going to fire an arrow into his neck. Granted that she did in fact have her bow taunt and loaded, but it had only been in reaction to his own bow.

“And you’re gripping the bow mostly from the side, with your fingers wrapped solidly around the handle _. Oh my god- your wrist!_ You do realise that by pulling it off to the side in an attempt to get it out of the way, you’re not doing yourself any favours. You wouldn’t need a second arm guard if you just corrected your abysmal posture.”

Allison flexed her own hand in sympathy for the horrific way the male archer gripped his bow. Her own hand was holding the bow very lightly, just a couple of fingertips resting on it. The bow pressed against the base of her thumb, her palm is at a sensible 45-degree angle, and her wrist bones point directly into the center of the bow. Her eyes darted over his horrific stance and achieved two conclusions; her own posture allowed for a lot less bow movement and a much more accurate shot.

“Are you left-handed? That could be your problem,” Allison questioned, “You look like you could be aiming with your right eye. It is probably the reason why you keep smacking your arm. I bet whoever gave you a bow, gave you a left-handed one because you’re left handed, without even checking your eye-dominance. That’s probably why you’re on a constant exercise of frustration and pain.”

The man’s eyebrow furrowed.

“Also, you have a break at your wrist, which is putting pressure on your carpal tunnels and preventing you from relaxing your fingers,” Allison sighed, “Even ignoring the fact that you are putting yourself at _unnecessary harm,_ you are going to have to yank your hand off the string; fouling the shot and adding to the smacking on your forearm. Find a good teacher and get rid of the second guard.”

The man frowned at her, but didn’t make any further movements.

“You have your hand at an angle, if you hold the string with your index finger and barely hold it with your second and third fingers; your release is going to be inconsistent and uncontrolled. And your elbow is high- creating a downward force on the bowstring,” Allison continued, with a frown, “It’s also a little too forward; you’re pretty obviously doing all the work with your arm and shoulder muscles, not using your back at all.”

The visual sight of the other Archer’s position was almost painful. Clearly, he’d either been self-taught, had an awful incompetent teacher, or was an awful student. The sight of his posture made her carefully check her own. Her arm formed a straight line from elbow to fingertips; in line with the arrow. Her hand was vertical, prepped so when she releases the arrow, all three fingers will come off the string at the same time. Unlike the poor postured man in front of her, she actually used her back to draw the bow, so the arrow _would actually go where she wanted it to._

“You have weak wrists,” She commented, “Just look at the break in your wrist on the hand that’s holding the string; your elbow is pointing upward. There’s no power behind it because you’re loading all the work into your arms instead of your back.”

“Listen Princess Merida; I make it work.” The man finally responded so plainly, as if he wasn’t freaking _Hawkeye_.

“But _how_ do you make it work for you?” The girl demanded, “Is your superpower _‘refusal to adhere to the laws of motion’_?”

“ _Look_ ,” The Archer said, as he visibly re-evaluated her, “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see a man about a wolf.” She responded calmly, “I’m certainly not going to take on the Avengers, with _eleven arrows_.”

The man snorted, “A wolf?”

“Look,” She continued, “I’m extremely excited to have met you, Hawkeye- You’re basically my superhero idol, but I have a prior commitment. Would you mind leaving?”

“ _A prior commitment with a wolf_.” Hawkeye deadpanned.

“With a wolf.” Allison confirmed.

“I’m pretty sure killing wolves is illegal in New York,” Hawkeye frowned, “Against one animal welfare law or something. It sure violates something. And if a wolf got loose from the zoo, I’m pretty sure I’d know about it.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” Allison snapped, “I want _to re-capture_ him.”

The Archer sighed, “Look kiddo, what’s your game? Trafficking? Mutant wolf? Robot? Cross-breed? _Loki’s monster spawnlings_?”

There was a pause.

"Oh my god," Hawkeye responded, "You're totally hunting Loki's monster offspring."

Allison smiled back, but before she could respond, a loud shout emanated from her Quiver, _“-ALLISON HE’S HEADING YOUR WAY OH GOD HE’S ANGRIER THAN THE HULK WITH A WEDGIE-“_

In a fluid move, the girl fired an arrow off the building, restrung her bow and had the arrow pointed back at the Archer before Hawkeye had time to react. The man blinked and grinned, looking visibly impressed by her movements. Carefully he pointed the bow away, and relaxed the string, but left the arrow in its place as he scooted over towards the side of the building and looked down.

“I’m not afraid to shoot you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” The man chirped back, “But honestly, right now you’re coming across as a minor but upcoming evil villain.”

Allison sighed.

“Well, it looks like you hit your wolf- _oh my god he’s turning into a person,”_ The man’s eyes swivelled back to her, “You said you didn’t have Loki’s monster children!”

“He’s _not_.”

“I read the briefing!” Hawkeye retorted with feigned terror, “He’s totally Fenrir and I am now an accessory of an interstellar kidnapping-assault; Loki is probably going to stuff and use my corpse as the kid’s new chew toy. I'm pretty sure I just started _Ragnarok_.”

Allison inhaled sharply and sent him a withering look.

“You just hit a kid,” He pointed out, “He looks like he’s _fourteen_.”

“Eighteen actually,” Allison pointed out, “And he’s my boyfriend.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure this is domestic abuse.”

“ _Allison_?” The weak voice of the man below called, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She called back, “I just have some company. How are you?”

There was a distinct pause, “I’m fine. No major damage done. Nice shot; you just grazed my forearm. Stiles’ totally did awesome and I think I’m cured.”

“I have an Avenger on the rooftop,” She called back with sarcasm so thick that her Disney-like exterior was vanished with Stark-branded snark, “They’re trying to ruin my night of villainy and shenanigans.”

A swear, and then the cluttered footsteps of an average sized man was audible, before he made it up the fire escape and brightly looked up at the two. His face fell.

“I was hoping for Captain America,” He sighed, before glancing towards Allison with a puppyish adoration, “But yeah, we’re all good and _please don’t arrest us Mr Hawkeye_.”

Hawkeye glanced between the two and threw up his arms in exasperation, “ _Jesus, fine_ \- get out of here weird doting shiftshaping teenagers. Obviously this goddamn city doesn’t have any normal people left in it.”

“ _Really_?” The man perked up with a wide innocent grin, “Thank you sir! C’mon Allison, let’s go pick up some Burritos on the way home!”

Allison glanced towards the Archer hesitantly.

“Oh by all means, take Fenrir and go,” He responded wearily, “I’m not stopping Loki’s hellspawn offspring from _burritos_.”

As the two teenagers swiftly picked up their equipment and swiftly made it off the building with an impressive speed, Hawkeye rubbed his temples and wondered if the paperwork would be easier or worse if he didn’t report Fenrir and Katniss Everdeen’s burrito run.

Because  _Ragnarok._

Obviously, this was a problem that only donuts could solve.

**Author's Note:**

> BAM! Read the article linked for the criticism of Hawkeye's form if you wish; he's totally my favourite Avenger, but the chance to poke and prod at him is way too easy to pass up.


End file.
